


Accidentally on Purpose

by Coconutice22



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Discussion of Depression, Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, M/M, Masochism, Object Insertion, Spanking, Sub Dean, consensual relations only, not exactly safe and sane, talk of heavy punishment, tfwbigbang2019, time is woobly ooberly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 07:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20701886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coconutice22/pseuds/Coconutice22
Summary: Sam is accidental King of Hell, Cas is accidental Ruler of Heaven. And Dean? He owns a bar.Dean is stuck on Earth these days, trying to find ways to entertain himself while he waits for Sam and Castiel to come visit. As the years go by, Dean turns to increasingly extreme ways to keep himself occupied.Sam and Castiel hatch a plan for how they’re going to keep Dean occupied. Lucky for Dean, Castiel turns out to be pretty good at knowing just how to keep Dean interested.





	Accidentally on Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always had a weird fascination with the concept of how time must feel different to Castiel relative to how it feels for Sam and Dean, purely because of his age. Even as humans, as we age a year starts to feel shorter than it did when we were younger. This fic picks up a lot on this theme and time goes a bit wobbly. 
> 
> My submission for the Team Free Will Big Bang 2019. Much love to the mods for holding it again, and to my beta [AnOddSock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock) for going through this for me. 
> 
> Art by [Huntress79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/) master art post can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702519)

_**Present day, circa 2289 ** _

  
Sometimes the bar-dwellers had the nerve to complain about the music Dean played. But it was _ his _ bar. _ His _ countless layers of hand-applied lacquer bar. _ His _had-definitely-seen-better-days bar stools. His. So yeah, if he decided to play classic rock all day, that was also his decision and the preppies taking up room at the bar could always leave. 

Bar owner picked the music, patrons shut their piehole. 

“I’ve been coming here for fifteen years nearly and you don’t seem to have aged a day, Dean Winchester.” 

Celia was sharp – Dean would give her that much – but still a drunk, nonetheless. 

“The secret to a long life is being happy about the idea of getting older," he said in lieu of a reply. 

"Yeah? Sure you ain't pumping water from the fountain of youth back there?" 

Dean looked up and down the bar, putting on a show for Celia. 

"Nope, don't look like it, Celi’. How's the grandkids?" He knew he could always distract her by asking about the grandkids. 

She moaned and put her head in her hands. "Would've never had kids if I'd known they were coming after. Gracie jacked a car last week. Do you even know how hard it is to steal a car? When was the last time you'd even heard of one being stolen?" 

She had a point, Dean conceded. "Kid's got a future ahead of her. They should hire her." 

Celia waved Dean away. "Yeah, yeah. Guess I should be getting back." She stood from her stool with a sigh. "Unless you want me to stay for the company?" 

Other than Dean and a guy sat in the back of the bar, known as Dennis – who was hopefully asleep and not dead – the bar would be empty once Celia left. Just as it often was these days. 

"Nah, you're good, get home to that lovin' family of yours," he winked at her. 

"Pfffftt, you're a good bartender but you suck at the cheering people up bit, Dean." 

"I try," he shot her a wide grin. 

"Bye, kiddo who should be the same age as me and yet doesn't look a day over… 55?" she guessed. 

It was a poor guess, but Dean wasn't going to correct her. 

"Bye, Celia." 

Dean turned the music up hoping to startle Dennis awake so he'd leave too. It didn't look like anyone else would be visiting the bar tonight, especially not the only people Dean really wanted to see. 

"G'night Sam, Cas," Dean murmured a couple hours later, kissing his fingers and touching them lightly to the photo on his bedside table. He missed them some nights more than others. Mostly he missed them during the day. The long, long day. As fewer and fewer people were coming to frequent the bar, Dean started to wonder more often what the point was of staying open. 

He'd be lying if he said that was the first night he'd spent drifting off while contemplating what life after the bar would be like. Wondering about the consequences of selling up and leaving, or just… leaving. Drop it all. Stop caring about inventory and bills, go back to his pre-having to care about tax life. 

*** 

Days like this Dean couldn't understand why he'd ever leave the bar. He was happy here, and yeah, he'd never made a huge amount of money but he always had enough to live on. 

And he had Sam and Cas. Alive, well, and happy.

“So, she slaughtered the lot of them and now they’re fighting. It was just three sheep to start with, then the grasshoppers got involved,” Castiel sighed as he finished his story. 

“How is it, no matter what happens, you can always count on angels to be dicks?” Dean chipped in. 

Dean finished drying the glass he’d been holding and manoeuvred it under the beer tap. Frothy beer poured out, and Dean nodded to himself, always impressed at just how great he was at pulling.

“Hey, I resent that,” Sam added to the conversation as he entered the bar and sat down next to Castiel. “They aren’t all dicks.”

“Most are,” Castiel sighed, adding his agreement to Dean’s statement. “Though, if they weren’t, would I even have a job?”

Sam frowned. “Bad day at work?”

Castiel recounted the story for Sam this time while Dean eyed up his brother. Sam seemed to be in a tequila sort of mood. Which probably meant Dean should be serving him water, and Sam would settle for beer. He poured and mixed the final drink and presented Sam with a–

“Cosmopolitan? I didn’t know I was one of the Sex and the City girls now, Dean,” Sam commented, but still picked up the glass and took a sip. “Taken you a few hundred years, but you do know how to mix a good drink.”

“Gotta have something to do all day while I wait for you two to finish work.”

Dean wiped a cloth across the top of the bar, polishing it to perfection.

“It’s annual appraisals next week.” Sam’s shoulders slumped. 

“You could just not do it,” Dean pointed out. He understood why Sam added so many levels of bureaucracy back to Hell. Crowley would be proud in a way at how Sam had turned things around to bring order, annual appraisals, daily agendas, and self-reflection worksheets for the demons.

“I think the demons kinda... like it?” Sam sounded unsure of himself. “They like knowing they’re doing a good job at keeping the balance.”

“They like being told they’re doing excellent work by you, Sammy,” Dean pointed out, knowing that feeling all too well.

Sam’s smile was bashful as he took another sip of his drink.

“Maybe I should start doing appraisals,” Castiel pondered. “It’d be a good way to tell them all how they need improving and get their feedback on how things are going.”

“I could share my system with you if you want? We could try the food at that new place up town." 

Dean dropped the glass he was holding. It didn't shatter, but he wished it had just to give him something to focus on. 

He was having a good day. 

He was. 

It was just, more often than not, even the good days weren't good anymore. 

"You okay there, Dean?" Sam propped himself on his forearms to look over the bar and see Dean swoop down to pick up the somehow still-whole glass. 

"Golden. Didn't even chip." 

"It's this new technique with the glass." 

"New?" Sam snorted. "It's like 40 years old now." 

"Relative to my lifespan: new," Cas said with a roll of his eyes. 

“Or,” Dean interjected, leaning across the bar on his elbows to put himself as close to Castiel as possible. “You could quit your job instead of doing appraisals let someone else take over Heaven.”

Castiel’s head whipped around back to Dean, a frown on his face. “Quit? Why would I quit?”

“Because I’m here by myself all day, waiting for both of you to come visit?”

Dean suspected it wasn’t all day. He suspected time worked differently here, in his bar, than in the rest of existence. Once he’d tried to breach the idea with Sam and Castiel, who both quickly changed the topic. 

“Dean, please don’t be difficult.”

“I shine these glasses probably hundreds of times every week. There are grooves in the floors from where I’ve been walking back and forth for hundreds of years now. I need something.”

“You have us.”

“I need more.”

“More than us? Since when?”

“Since… since...” Dean slammed the glass in his hand down and stormed off. 

“So he’s in one of those moods again,” Dean could hear Castiel pronounce.

Dean slammed the door to his back office and sank down into the desk chair, head resting in his hands as he tried his best not to smash up the office or cry. 

Castiel and Sam were probably halfway to the restaurant by now, leaving Dean behind as they had to. 

This hadn’t been how he expected the end of all things to look. 

This was still one of his good days, he reminded himself. And that thought alone made the pain in his chest radiate fiercely. 

Even in the year 2289, humanity hadn’t created a way to bring true comfort to Dean’s broken soul. 

* * *

** _In The Beginning, Circa September 2022_ **

> ** _Enough! There will be no new King of Hell. Not today. Not ever. And if anybody wants the job, you can come through me. Understood? _ ** **\- **Sam Winchester, 14x01 

  
The first group of demons approached Sam two years after Chuck's ugly demise. Things were falling apart in Hell. The demons were falling apart and the sections of Hell required to house all of the souls were slowly but surely cracking up. 

"You killed God, so now we need someone to keep the magic of this place together." 

"Magic? I can't do magic." Or rather, he probably could, but didn't want it at the cost it came with. Sam tried his best not to remember the feeling of power he used to have with the demon blood in his system. 

"We need something! You think Heaven's the only place that needed maintenance? When all the angels were gone except your precious Castiel, you found a way to fix that." 

It was true, and Sam could hardly deny it. It was on the tip of his tongue to slam against the demon and decry it all as lies, but he still had the scar on his left shoulder that had come with what they'd done to fix Heaven. No amount of grace was going to heal that. It also wasn’t worth arguing that what they’d done for Heaven hadn’t been a permanent fix, so it hardly counted anyway. They still didn’t have enough angels to run the place. The fighting and sacrifice so far had just secured it for a little while so they could try and find a long-term solution. 

"Are their lives worth more than us? You know the angels have committed many atrocious acts." 

That was a matter for debate, but not a debate Sam felt like getting into presently. 

"Listen, I hear what you're saying, but there has to be a better candidate than me to rule Hell." 

The demon in the back adjusted his tie and stuck his hand up. 

"Um, yes?" Sam said addressing him. 

"I ran the numbers, and a few hundred potential scenarios, but it all boils down to: there isn't. The endgame on getting anyone but you involved is that… well, you'd kill them eventually. We thought we should just skip the queue and," he gestured to Sam. "You're the logical choice for King of Hell." 

"I'm not a demon," Sam pointed out. 

"You don't need to be, it turns out. We checked the rules and sub laws. Crowley made a few interesting administration choices when he was considering leaving Hell to Dean." 

"To Dean? What, why – you know what, it doesn't matter." It wasn't worth the effort to work out Crowley's actions either. Sam was tired of fighting all the time. The fact he had stopped to listen to the demons in the first place was sign enough of that. 

Being the King of Hell didn’t feel anything like Sam assumed it would. They came to him with problems and he made decisions, found solutions. Sometimes over new-soul allocations, other times over who was allowed overtime or just how many paper napkins they needed to order. 

With the demons more-or-less under control, Hell became less of an issue. Demons became less of an issue. Sure, they were still required to gank those that couldn't stay in order enough to obey a simple 'don't fuck up' rule. A little mischief went unnoticed, and he allowed them to keep making their deals. It was harm of unsuspecting bystanders Sam outlawed. 

It took three years before Dean convinced Castiel they could control Heaven in much the same way and lead the way to them finally being able to retire. Retire from hunting, and eventually retire from running the afterlife of all the souls in existence once suitable replacements had been found. 

Finding suitable replacements to takeover had been, unfortunately, where their plan had stalled. 

***

No one denied the requirement for new angels. 

Chuck was dead – thankfully dead – and Jack lost to them too.

The plan concocted to resupply Heaven was so crazy Rowena had initially refused to be a part of it. The options available to them though were limited and Heaven cracked a little each passing second, wrecking Castiel’s nerves as he waited for it to all shatter apart. 

They couldn't create new angels, and while they discovered demons and witches with proper bribes, force, or false-promises of future power, could be counted on to do the bare minimum to keep operations going, it was not a long-term plan and they needed long term. 

"We could borrow a couple of angels," Dean threw out during one discussion session. 

"From where? Angels-R-Us?" Jody crossed her arms and looked down at Dean. 

"That's not… an impossible idea," Castiel said slowly. "Angels exist in parallel universes still. There has to be one with enough to assist us." 

Dean finger-gunned his approval at Castiel with a wink. "Exactly." 

Sam rolled his eyes and adjusted himself in his chair. "Don't pretend like that was what you meant, Dean." Sam turned to face Castiel. 

Maybe they were arrogant, maybe they’d been through so much trauma that they just didn’t see barriers anymore, maybe they truly were all-powerful. But Sam was King of Hell and if that didn’t mean anything, if that didn’t prove they were more than they used to be, then what did? Maybe, just maybe, an angel, the King of Hell, some witches and a couple of hunters could find portals to enough alternative universes to convince some angels to come back with them, to help _ their _ world out. 

Years of work went into the planning, while they all helped out to keep Heaven going as much as possible. Propping up the crumbling infrastructure so badly needed to keep their world in one piece. And when they’d achieved everything they wanted to achieve, they realized one important thing they’d neglected: Heaven still needed a leader. They tried to make it work with a board of angels to debate and vote on matters, but too many critical decisions had to be made in the background to make this a consistently useful set-up. 

“Castiel, it has to be you,” Balthazar declared to the assembled members. Another Balthazar nodded his agreement. 

Castiel suspected the two of them were a couple and it made something in his brain twinge when he thought that through too much. He wasn’t going to debate the morality of the same being from different universes being in a relationship with each other. It just wasn’t worth the resulting migraine. 

“It has to be you, Castiel. You’re the only one of us originally from this universe.” Hannah’s form was so different to any of those she’d inhabited in this universe. 

There was regret, so much regret, when he looked at so many of the gathered angels. The group who had agreed to help him rebuild Heaven. The group who were aiming to make him leader of them all. 

Gadreel sat in contemplation for a moment, one hand clenched around the ever-present locket he never took off. One time Castiel had accidentally seen inside and found there to be a photo of Sam. He’d never pried what had happened between the two of them, but there was no doubting the devotion in Gadreel’s eyes when he looked upon this universe’s Sam. The self-conscious way he tugged his vessel’s clothes up across his throat to hide the scars that never seemed to settle from their vicious, raised streaks of pain. 

Yes, the angels they’d assembled saved Heaven for his universe, but for most it seemed like they’d accepted the Winchester invite to another universe for the purpose of wanting to save themselves. 

There was a small pang of upset that Castiel had never been able to find another Gabriel to join them. He was deceased – or at least acting as such – in every universe they’d been able to access. 

Samandriel smiled up at Castiel. He occupied a female vessel from the universe they’d found him in. Regardless of the vessel, he had the same gentle-hearted nature. 

“We can vote you in, Castiel, and then vote again at a later date a few centuries from now? That was how they dealt with most of the humans’ politics in my universe.” He frowned momentarily at that, reflecting on some memory Castiel was never going to be able to fully appreciate. There was no way for any of them to fully appreciate the universes each other had come from. 

“Agreed,” one of the Balthazars spoke up, slapping a hand on the table. 

Their trust and faith in him was embracing, but Castiel wondered sometimes if it wasn’t also misguided. 

No matter the universe though, they’d only ever known Castiel to be an effective member of the angel society. Whether for better or worse, he’d apparently always known how to get things dealt with.

* * *

_ **Beginning again, circa 2059** _

At some point in his life, Dean Winchester turned (biologically) 80 years old. It was not a number he thought he’d ever lived to see. His hands shook when he opened his medication bottles and the cold air in the bunker made him hurt more often than not in the mornings. And in the evenings. And really all day every day, if he was being totally honest. Castiel’s grace could only fix so much. His touch brought joy to Dean now, not just from the fact it meant for a few days Dean felt young again, pain-free again, but also for the company he provided when he came to visit Dean to administer care. 

It’d been nearly thirty-seven years since Sam took control of Hell, and twenty since Castiel became de facto leader of Heaven. Dean had grown used to mostly being alone, while his brother and… well, whatever Castiel was to him these days, were busy keeping their universe whole. Cas had been due a visit the previous month. Dean hadn’t been holding his breath he’d actually make it. The way time worked between the realms was weird enough anyway, but coupled with the fact that the longer Sam and Cas spent away, the less important to them Earth seemed to be, meant Dean saw them less and less.

It hadn’t even been that long in the grand scheme of things and it already pained Dean how easily they were losing touch with him. Cas at least should have had a better grasp on things; he’d had previous experience with dealing in different time-streams after all. Sam didn’t always seem to know anymore when he’d been away from Earth one day or two months. 

Their visits were often jarring for Dean who had to look upon their still youthful complexions, ageless, just as he’d remembered them looking for so long, and then feel the shock of his own years when he caught his reflection. The way his face and whole body had changed. 

The way Castiel looked into his eyes though, the way he kissed and held Dean, that never failed to briefly make him forget his ever advancing years. It always made him forget he wasn’t still in his prime. He felt loved, cherished, and _ safe _. He wasn’t meant to live to 80, but he had. Castiel and Sam would live forever, in control, busy and respected by those they led. 

Dean considered his a charmed life on the day of his 80th birthday. He’d really received everything he could have asked for. And when he finally died and joined the great beyond, to Heaven or to Hell, he knew he’d have his family not too far from him, always and forever. 

What more could he ever want? 

* * *

**_Present day, circa 2289_ **** ** ** **

“Did people really use to drink this?” The kid looked up at Dean with great disgust. “Three thousand dollars for a genuine-recipe 21st century beer, and it’s _ so _ gross.” 

“You can’t get your money back,” Dean said firmly, knowing exactly where this was going. It wasn’t even like $3,000 was even all that much these days. “You signed the waiver, remember? I told you the historic stuff was nothing like what they serve now.” He was a bit put out since he was also brewing the beer himself and it wasn’t a bad batch, if he did say so himself. 

The kid pouted and tried a bit more of the beer. “Yeah, you warned me. I just thought it’d be cool to try something, you know, _ harmful _.” 

All alcohol served in the last 100 years was genetically engineered to get you drunk without the organ damage. It was somewhat ironic to Dean that in an age when this was possible, most people got their highs off direct brain stimulation. It did make some sense though: why introduce substances to create the effect your brain could achieve instantly? 

“Yeah well, imagine the fun you’ll have sharing the experience. Not many people get to try authentic beer, from before the scientists got their hands on it.” 

The kid contemplated the glass, a little more than half full now. “True, I guess.” 

She opened up her Kay device (which Dean still referred to as his cellphone in his mind) and scanned an image of the drink in. Sipping a little more of the beer, she pulled another face. “Seriously, gross.” 

“You have to develop a taste for it,” Dean grinned, wiping the bar down again. 

“That’s just how you trick people into buying more of that crap, isn’t it?” 

Dean chuckled. “You got me there.” 

“And then I tell everyone on Zeely how much I love it, and then suddenly others are coming to try it. The circle continues. The drink sucks, but no one wants to admit they spent so much on something sucky.” 

Dean leaned down on his elbows to look the girl on the other side of his bar in the eye, and then he winked at her. “Don’t be telling everyone my secret now,” he teased, but he meant it genuinely. Social networks like Zeely continued to be a goldmine of free advertising for the bar as people had to brag about going somewhere so historic. 

She snorted and looked around the interior. 

“This place is pretty cool though. It was worth coming here to see. Feels exactly like it was from the early 2000s. That’s kind of my aesthetic.” 

Dean nodded. He’d noticed her jeans and t-shirt, looked exactly like the kind of get-up Claire used to wear so many centuries before. 

“And it’s cool you even dress up!” 

She was smiling widely at him and Dean kind of figured he might know where this conversation was going. Some of the patrons – not many but some – seemed to think he was as much a part of the experience of visiting the bar as the old-fashioned drinks they sold. 

“How old are you, kid?” 

“Kid?” she spat in shock. “I’m 37!” 

_ Huh _, that did shock Dean a moment. He’d really stopped being able to tell ages a while ago, truth be told. 

“I’m... um,” sorry? But not really. 

“Taken,” Castiel answered, sitting down next to the girl. “Dean,” he greeted. 

Dean hadn’t even heard him come in. He wasn’t meant to just appear into the bar like that as sometimes it freaked out the visitors. 

The girl looked Castiel up and down, more in awe of his outfit than the fact he’d appeared in thin air right behind her. “Is that a trench coat? I saw one in a museum once.” She looked back at Dean then back to Castiel. “Wait, you two do this dressing up thing as like.... a coupley thing? That’s adorable. Is there a club? Are there more of you?” She looked back between the beer and Dean and back again. “I think I’m drunk?” 

“You had half a beer,” Dean intoned. “You ain’t drunk.” 

“Are you sure? I feel drunk? Is my liver going to be okay? Should I go pick up a spare one?” 

“Lizzabelle,” Castiel said firmly, trying to get her attention as she looked up things on her Kay. How he knew her name was something Dean didn't know. He just accepted that Castiel knew all names these days. 

“Yeah?” she was distracted, anxious, now in a budding panic over what she’d just potentially done to her liver. 

“You’re going to be fine.” His voice was soothing on its own, but Dean suspected Cas was influencing things a little further than that. “Why don’t you go home?” 

“I’m on holiday,” she answered, putting her Kay back in her pocket. “I can go back to my hotel?” 

“That would be wonderful. Let me have some alone time with Dean?” 

Her head swivelled to look at Dean. “Is that your name? That’s an outdated name, isn’t it? _ Historical _.” 

Dean smiled benevolently at her. “It is, yes.” He wasn’t going to deny it. 

“You’re a weird guy,” she said. “Shame you’re taken, I’d loved to have known if you wore _ boxer shorts _ under all that.” She tapped her hand to Dean’s payment terminal by way of tipping him. “I’ll let you lovers enjoy yourself. Thanks for the beer. I’m not sure it is for me, to be honest.” 

Dean pointed at the beer once she’d left. “You want the rest of it?” 

“No,” Castiel sounded very putout. “Gross.” 

Dean chuckled and poured the rest away. 

“How was work? How did the appraisals go?” 

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’re over, at least.” 

“So you can stick around tonight?” Dean hoped he sounded casual enough that Castiel wouldn’t pick-up on just how damn much he’d missed him. 

“I… cannot, I’m sorry, Dean.” 

Dean’s hands stalled for a brief moment. Yeah, the disappointment still hurt, but he wasn’t going to let it ruin the time he did get to spend with Cas or Sam. They were always apologetic, but it was never of any comfort to Dean. 

After his meltdown the last time they’d visited, he’d taken a moment to reflect on what really mattered. He had a good life. The bar, interesting patrons, a ruler of Hell who loved him, a ruler of Heaven who was in love with him. As far as Dean Winchester’s life could have gone, things were pretty sweet. 

_ I miss the feel of the sun against my face, _ Dean thought absently as he polished up the glass again. 

He knew looking in the mirror that he used to have freckles when his skin was sun-baked and golden. But since he’d had to resign himself to staying inside, he’d lost that sunkissed look. He’d lost it all when Sam and Castiel created this place for him. It kept him alive, it kept him _ young _, it kept Heaven and Hell from arguing where he deserved to end up. It kept harmony in the universe. 

Dean had no right to be annoyed or upset about the fact he was pretty much locked up here, not when he was the one who agreed to it in the first place. 

Not when he was the one who had been dying, while they sat at his bedside grieving his weary bones. 

The day before his 91st birthday, a reaper had appeared to help Dean with his journey to the afterlife. 

That was the day things changed in Dean Winchester’s life forever. 

Heaven or Hell should have had first dibs to Dean’s soul, with neither option worrying Dean given who was in charge. He knew though that if he didn’t end up in either of those places, he’d just be booted out to Purgatory, something they’d all agreed no one wanted. The Empty wouldn’t touch Dean even if they begged, leaving just Purgatory to contend with. 

In theory, if he had gone to Heaven Sam would’ve never seen him again, and if he’d gone to Hell, Cas would never see him again. But there was a general unspoken understanding they’d find a way to make it work. Find a way to make sure they didn’t have to go without ever seeing each other at the same time ever again. 

The poor reaper sent to get Dean was there for weeks while Sam and Castiel argued it out with Billie over Dean’s final resting place. 

Dean had a complete soul and should instantly go to Heaven. The argument remained that he wouldn’t enjoy it in Heaven, it wouldn’t be restful enough for him. Strictly speaking, he didn’t belong in Heaven or Hell. There wasn’t a place for Dean Winchester in the afterlife that was going to stick. Wasn’t a final resting spot for him that wouldn’t in some way upset the balance of everything or piss off the locals somehow. 

So they made one. 

Sam ruled Hell. 

Castiel ruled Heaven. 

Dean ran a bar in downtown Chicago and hadn’t been outside in over 200 years. This bar, with its wooden floors, seedy beer smell and dark-green furnishings, this was his afterlife. 

“It is better than the Ma'lak Box,” Dean had commented with a shrug from his deathbed, as they explained to him the conclusion they’d arrived at. The bar was much bigger, for starters. He had decent sized living quarters and the bar to survive and live in. For a man who had spent hours of his life in years gone by contemplating how he should spend the rest of his days living on a far-flung planet or in that damn box, he was doing pretty well.

“It’s a neutral space,” Sam said at the time, with what exuberance he could gather together in a situation that involved his dying brother. “A truly neutral space. For Heaven, Hell, and anything in between.” 

“Am I gonna get vampires in here or…?” 

“Perhaps,” Castiel admitted. “But we’ve warded it up so well that even if they were, they shouldn’t be able to do any harm. _ Do No Harm _, that’s the one thing we’ve infused in the walls of this place.” 

“Dean,” Sam said, breathy with excitement, “do you get it?” 

“Er, no?” Dean admitted, swiveling around so he could sit with his legs off the bed. He stood up, feeling a thirst and spotting a jug of water on the other side of the room. A few steps in he realized something was missing. 

“A neutral zone means that we could force those at conflict here to _ talk _, actually discuss their problems instead of things ending in a bloodbath. We’ve found a way to finally piece together the last of the plan,” Sam explained in a hurry, looking so proud of himself. 

“Sure, sure, Sammy, that’s…” Dean trailed off. He was looking at the mirror on the bedroom wall. His mirror, he supposed, in his new bedroom. 

Dean reached a hand out to touch the mirror, certain it had to be lying. 

“Why do I look like this?” his voice was emotionless. 

“I couldn’t see you suffer any longer. We returned you to a younger form of yourself, to help you. You really will have to run the bar, I don’t think your back could have taken it previously.” Castiel looked a little guilty. 

Dean wanted to call him out on it. Wanted to ask if everything he’d said about Dean’s aging body still being beautiful to him was true or not. Wanted to ask if Castiel had missed sex more than he’d thought. 

Sam and Castiel stood there, Billie behind them looking bored, but his guys? His family? They looked so hopeful. Dean prodded at his eyes in the mirror. “You couldn’t have given me a body before my crows feet, could ya?” 

Sam snorted. “And risk you looking younger than me?” 

“Younger, older, what does it matter? I’m still always gonna be the more attractive brother, Sammy.” 

There were more enchantments on the place than just the _ do no harm _ commandments. They’d set it up so no one questioned why Dean never went outside. So no one outside questioned why the building was there. No one would ever try to knock it down for redevelopment, or even build too close to it. 

It was approaching 230 years of running the place now, and Dean was frustrated. 

Even Celia’s flirting wasn’t enough to make him smile most days. The respite between periods of feeling like he was useless weren’t really enough any more. 

It was the year 2289, and Dean Winchester had had enough. Yeah, Castiel was there visiting, but it wouldn’t be for long. He wouldn’t stay. They wouldn’t go to bed, kissing and holding each other like they used to. 

Sam wouldn’t come over once he’d finished his day in Hell and help Dean clean up Baby’s spark plugs. Not least because Dean hadn’t driven the Impala in so long he couldn’t remember exactly what the steering wheel looked like. He could remember the feel, of course, the wheel under his clenched fingers, the rumble and vibrations at his feet. The details though were slipping away as the decades went by. 

There was nowhere else for him to go, though. Sam and Castiel had created this place, his bar, as the only tenable option. This was where Dean had to be, while Sam and Castiel kept order. And that was just how it was going to be. 

* * *

** _Trying something new, circa 2864_ **

Dean had locked himself away in his back office when Sam turned up to Friday drinks. He hadn’t been in a few Fridays, but Dean always seemed to understand. That was Sam’s memory of their interactions. Sam feared sometimes he was slowly losing his grip on what Earth was, what being human was. Ruling the demons felt somehow increasingly _ right _ the longer he sat on the throne. 

Castiel was already sat at the bar as Sam walked in. He had his head bowed and looked to Sam like he was close to slamming his forehead on the wood repeatedly. 

“Tough day?” 

Castiel turned to greet Sam, perking up a little at the sight of him. 

“A touch, yes.” Castiel couldn’t remember the last time his answer to this question had been any different. 

He didn’t elaborate more, and Sam didn’t ask. He could guess, but after the weeks (months?) of trouble he’d been having trying to get the new soul sector open, Sam wasn’t really in the mood to hear Castiel’s troubles, as selfish as it might be. 

“Is Dean…?” Sam thumbed towards the backdoor office. 

Castiel nodded. “He turned the volume down once I got here.” 

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “Wow, such a gentleman.” 

Well, at least Dean had the door shut this time. Sam had come to the bar not so long ago to find Dean out in the open at one of the stools, fucking himself on a dildo, watching porn. Though with the technology of the day, he wasn’t just watching, he was part of the scene, feeling the sensations. Sensors worn on the skin tricked the nervous system into feeling like it was part of the experience that was happening before the wearer’s eyes. 

It was Dean’s current obsession. 

The patrons to the bar had died off, literally and metaphorically, as the world around them changed. No one was interested in the ancient history inside the bar anymore. The wards woven into the brick of the building had gotten stronger over the years to the point where humans would barely dare to step foot inside, leaving Dean most months to himself. 

“He’s addicted,” Sam commented to Castiel. “Full-blown porn addiction.” 

“It’s the only thing that makes him feel anything anymore.” 

“You two don’t…?” Sam had to ask. 

Castiel shrugged. “What could I possibly offer that his virtual world doesn’t already?” 

“Love? Companionship? I don’t know, stop me if I’m getting too crazy with my list.” 

“Neither of us are here very much any longer, let’s be real.” 

“We have a lot going on,” Sam defended. 

“Yes,” Castiel nodded. “But didn’t we always?” 

They sat in companionable silence and waited for Dean to come out of his back office. When he finally did, his pupils were pinpoints and he was walking with a hefty limp. 

“Uh, guys, hi,” he waved. 

Dean didn’t look _ satisfied _ or _ rested _ or anything else he claimed to get from the virtual world. He just looked dehydrated and confused to Castiel’s eyes. 

“You should drink some water,” Castiel prompted. 

Dean shrugged. “Even if I don’t, what’s gonna happen? I can’t die,” he chuckled. “So long as I stay in here, it doesn’t matter.” 

“Dean…” Sam sighed. “That’s not the point, that’s not the point at all. We’ve talked about this.” First in vague terms and then in more exacting terms as Dean’s attempts at self-destructive behavior got more daring. No, he couldn’t die while he was in the bar, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still suffer. 

“It kinda is?” Dean pulled himself a beer from the tap and drank half of it down without pause. “I’m immortal so long as I stay in this building, therefore, I can do what I want, when I want. You know, Cas, in another universe, where you had nothing, you turned to drugs and orgies to cope? How is what I’m doing any different?” Dean smiled dopily at them both. “Gotta go wash up for the orgy!” he laughed to himself, ignoring the looks Sam and Cas shared. 

Castiel later helped Dean to bed when Dean was at the point of falling over thin air and needed someone to take care of him. He’d probably needed someone to take care of him for a lot longer than they were willing to admit. 

Sam was sitting in a booth when Castiel returned to the bar area. Dean was passed out snoring on his bed. A bed Castiel hadn’t joined Dean in occupying for too long for Castiel to remember. 

“It isn’t up to us to fix him,” Sam said, looking up from the notes he’d written as Castiel sat down opposite him. 

“He’s a grown adult,” Castiel agreed. “More grown than most.” 

“But we love him, and he’s in pain.”

They both thought on this a moment. 

“We’ve lost sight of what we were trying to achieve, Sam.” 

“I…” Sam sighed. “Yes.” He ran his hands through his hair. “None of us are happy right now.” 

The truth hung thickly in the air between them. 

“The world is at peace, and we’ve destined ourselves to be miserable forever to achieve and maintain the status quo.” 

This wasn’t something they’d spoken of in many years. Their agreement that to keep the universe whole, they’d have to continue to give up their time on Earth and their time with Dean. And Dean would have to give up everything else. 

Castiel ran his thumbs against the tips of his fingers, remembering briefly the feel of Dean’s skin as he’d helped him to bed. 

“I love Dean, Sam.” 

Sam nodded. “I know. Me too. I don’t always remember what it feels like to be fully human anymore, Cas. I know that. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love him or you.” 

“I… we… can’t keep expecting this of him,” Castiel’s voice cracked slightly. “We’re all he has, and we’re too busy to see him.” 

Sam turned around the piece of paper he’d been writing on to share his idea with Castiel. Paper he’d plucked out of existence as easy as breathing these days, such was the way his powers felt so much a part of him now. 

“I agree,” Sam said. “Which is exactly why I’ve concluded that we need to spend more time with him. That I’d like to spend more time with him. All he does anymore is get himself off and get high one way or another.” 

Eons past, Sam would have just dragged Dean out on a hunt. Got his mind out of the spiral of self-destructive actions that way, by reminding him what they were doing it all for. They were long beyond that, for too many reasons now. 

Castiel studied Sam’s work intently. 

“A garden? You think that will save Dean?” 

Sam shrugged. “I think it’ll help save me, if I’m being honest. I’ve nearly forgotten, Cas, what humanity feels like. A garden would give me a rest as well. We have the power now to expand this safe zone outside of the walls of the building. To build a dome of spelled wards over the land so Dean can see the sunlight again. To let him go outside once more.” 

“What’s this other room?” Castiel squinted at Sam, tapping on the new addition to the existing building. 

“That’s for you and Dean to help with his… other urges.” 

The squint intensified. 

“How? Why would an empty room help with that?” 

“That’s for you two to sort out, between yourselves.” 

“You’re building a room onto Dean’s bar for he and I to have sex?” Castiel peered intensely at Sam, mildly amused that after so many centuries Sam could still be made ever so slightly uncomfortable at the topic of his brother’s sex life. 

Sam waved his hand about. “That’s for you two to decide. But I do know, if he takes this self-exploratory thing much further, he’s going to be trying to fit a bar stool up his ass, cut his dick off just to,” Sam hissed through his teeth and threw his hands up. “I don’t know, but he’s going to get more extreme somehow when the virtual stuff stops giving him his fix. He can’t die, Cas, but he can still suffer.” 

Castiel looked over at the bar stools and frowned. It did seem entirely possible, given the projection of things. There were only so many objects in the bar Dean could make use of like that, and he had steadily worked his way through using the pool table balls already. 

“I’ll look into it, methods of keeping him... interested.” 

“And yourself.”

“You deserve to be happy too, Sam. I know your work stresses you out. And yes, we’re both too busy often to be bored in the same way Dean is, but that doesn’t discredit our own mental health.” 

It was a conversation they should have had a long time ago, if Castiel was being honest with himself. 

“Dean said once we should just quit,” Sam remembered. 

“It wasn’t meant to last for all eternity,” Castiel added, voice strained. “None of this was supposed to last as long as it has.” 

“Can we agree we can’t both just quit now?” 

Castiel studied Sam’s plans a little longer. His quick sketch for how they could expand the space Dean had to live in. 

“We both need to appoint deputies to take over some of our duties and make a promise we’ll all spend more time together. The universe has changed over the years, granted, we haven’t changed that much though, Sam. We still need each other. We’ve just lost sight of that lately.” 

Sam smiled sadly at Castiel, looking weary in a way Castiel hadn’t seen since before Chuck had died. 

“You’re right. This isn’t just about Dean, it is you and me too. And it’s about time we remember that.” 

* * *

_**And so it goes, circa 3038 ** _

The flush of Dean’s right butt cheek made Castiel feel connected to humans in a way not much else could anymore. 

Castiel lifted his hand and brought it down again, hearing, feeling, experiencing the crack of his palm on Dean’s behind. 

Dean huffed impatiently. “Are we getting to the actual pain part yet or…?” 

“Be quiet,” Castiel commanded, bringing his hand down harder, and harder, and harder, until Dean’s right buttock was about the colour of a cherry while the left remained untouched, unspoiled. The heat radiating from the right one enough for Castiel to feel as he knelt down and placed a gentle kiss to the right cheek. 

“Very good,” he praised. 

Dean was strapped to a large willow tree, arms stretched right around and bound at the other side. 

The perfect tree for lovers, Castiel had thought while he’d twisted and tied the rope around Dean’s wrists earlier. The drooping branches gave them extra privacy against the outside world too – not that there was much that could interrupt them out there beyond the literal birds and bees. 

The virtual fantasies Dean had become accustomed too could trick his brain into feeling this sort of pain, but the technology of the day still wasn’t good enough to leave behind the physical marks Castiel could inflict on him. And beyond self-flagellation, Castiel was Dean’s best chance of feeling like this. 

Castiel pressed his lips to the damaged skin again before licking slowly up. There was no blood at this point for him to taste, but the flesh still had a slight tang to it. He kissed the undamaged cheek quickly and stood back up again. 

“You’ve behaved so well so far, Dean,” Castiel whispered into Dean’s ear. “I’m so proud of you.” 

“I love you, too,” Dean breathed, eyes closed as he tried to stop the tears from falling. “I love you so damn much.” 

“I’ve missed you, Dean.” Castiel kissed Dean’s neck so softly before he took a step back. “What shall we do next?” 

“Anything, everything.” 

They hadn’t started here. They’d started with cuddling five months ago – or perhaps five years, maybe five decades ago? Even Castiel was losing track of time now. With no Dean or Sam on regular time to help him keep relative to human time, he was back to the fluid-time experience he’d had before he’d met them. Where the days and weeks passed in but a blink of the eye. 

They’d started slow, trying to remember each others’ bodies. Trying to remember what they’d both taken for granted when they’d first become physically intimate with one another. Dean had taken surprisingly well to being handcuffed to his bed while Castiel slid into his already loose, sloppy hole. Dean had shown Castiel different types of ropes they could try, different uses to anti-gravitation booths that he’d seen in his virtual pornography travels. They’d taken full advantage of the new room Sam had created to reconnect in a way they hadn’t in so long. 

Castiel found himself slowly remembering this part of himself again. The part that remembered how much he loved humans. He had never forgotten that he did love humanity, but he’d forgotten how strongly that could make him feel. Parts of him were being woken up with each new activity he tried with Dean. Hannah had stepped up admirably to help take part of his leadership duties from him too, allowing Castiel to spend much desired time with Dean. 

Stepping back from where Dean was still bound to the tree, Castiel studied the unmarked side of Dean’s buttocks. 

“What do you think, should I mark up the other cheek too?” 

Dean nodded silently, body shaking slightly now from the strain on his toes. He loved being bound in a way that forced him onto his tiptoes, and Castiel did so love obliging Dean’s needs. 

“You should rub your cock against the bark,” Castiel suggested in a manner that Dean would take as a command. He’d made the bark rougher than nature ever intended. It would go someway to grating the sensitive skin of Dean’s cock, leaving him raw, sore and definitely shivering in pain later when Castiel took Dean in his mouth. 

There was definitely something to all of this that made Castiel feel Dean had gotten it right falling into lust with the virtual world of desire he’d been stuck in so often. 

Castiel pulled a length of willow off the tree and swished it around in the air. He could see the muscles in Dean’s back tense when he heard the sound. Under the hood Dean was now wearing, Castiel was sure Dean was probably grinning with happiness and anticipation of the willow. 

The only thing left to decide now was did Castiel go for the unmarked butt cheek or make a start on Dean’s shoulders? 

Castiel raised his arm out, grip tight on the branch and moved to swing forwards–

“Ahem, am I interrupting?” 

“HEY!” Dean shouted out. “Go away!” He stumbled a little on his tiptoes, unbalanced by Sam’s sudden appearance. 

“Dean,” Castiel warned calmly. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean huffed. 

“You’re not interrupting,” Castiel affirmed, punishing Dean and addressing Sam in one swoop. Castiel frowned a moment. “You’re not due to be here until tomorrow, or we wouldn’t have brought our activities out to the garden.” 

“Yeah, I finished up earlier than expected and you said you wanted to talk, Cas?” 

“Cas,” Dean whimpered. 

“Hush, Dean. Or I will gag you.” 

Dean made a strange gurgle sound and Castiel knew he was torn between feeling this as a punishment as it meant no sucking cock later, and a reward as it meant Castiel would be restricting his breathing somewhat. 

“Let’s go inside?” Castiel offered. 

Sam agreed and the two old friends moved inside, leaving Dean tied tightly to the tree. 

*** 

“Is it working?” Sam asked Castiel hopefully. It should be weird to him that he’d seen his own brother involved in such a scene, but all his years in Hell, all his years alive had desensitized him to most things it seemed. 

“It puts him into a better headspace,” Castiel confirmed. “Sam,” Castiel paused to ensure he had Sam’s full attention, “This can’t last forever. This isn’t a permanent solution. We’ve agreed on that.” 

The thought had been on Castiel’s mind more and more. He’d flayed skin from Dean’s back during their last session, and as much fun as it was, Castiel’s doubts had started to creep in. 

“We’ll find one, we’ll find a way to keep Dean happy.” Sam felt confident as he said this. “We always do,” he added, more to reassure himself than for Castiel’s benefit. “And so long as Dean’s happy, we can keep the peace. It’s been going so well, Cas.” 

Castiel ruled over Heaven and Sam over Hell, and yet Dean was still being screwed over by both sides. They had to keep him alive, had to keep him in the bar to keep the balance of the universe whole. Because neither Sam nor Cas wanted to lose Dean, and that was the only other option they had. 

“What if this isn’t to his benefit? Are we being selfish?” 

The thought had been on Sam’s mind too, for longer than he cared to think about. 

“We’re not taking advantage of him, Cas, we’re keeping him alive.” 

“Because we don’t want to let go.” 

Sam wanted to ask ‘so what’, but didn’t dare. There was no other way, no hope, no choice but to keep going as they had. Eternity was a long time, sure, but things were okay, things were _ working _ and the idea that Dean could mess it all up because he was bored worried Sam deeply. 

“Sometimes, Sam…” Castiel hesitated, not quite sure how best to communicate to Sam things as he saw them. “You’re still fairly new to this _ all of eternity _ business. It’s too easy to lose touch with your heart as you get older. You see too much, experience too much, feel too much. Why else do you think so many of the angels end up as they do?” 

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s your point?” 

“He loves us,” Castiel said emphatically, “both of us, very much.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. He’d never doubted that. 

“But I feel with each year, he’s growing closer to doing something he and us will regret. The garden was an amazing idea. He’s tended to it well, and it’s so peaceful and beautiful there. The playroom? Also inspired. I’ve enjoyed getting to learn this side of Dean more than I can word, however…” 

“You think he’ll try and hurt us to get free of this place?” 

Castiel’s eyes were sad as he nodded. 

“Dean wouldn’t, you know? Even with everything that happened with dad, he didn’t hurt him, Cas. He’s loyal, damn loyal. Dean understands what we’re doing, that this is all for the greater good. We move him to Heaven or to Hell and we upset the balance of _ everything _.” 

“So your argument is he won’t try and upset anything out of a sense of duty?” Castiel didn’t sound convinced. “That might work if we weren’t talking about _ eternity _ Sam. It’s been barely a couple of centuries and he’s already…” Castiel trailed off trying to think of a better word than _ needy, perfect, troublesome _. “He’s in trouble.” 

“But the headspace thing, the submission, that’s helping?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then keep doing that for now.” 

“That’s your answer? Just Dom him into feeling better?” 

Sam looked around the empty bar, looked over to the door he knew Dean was currently sleeping behind, processing everything he’d ever learned, everything he’d ever experienced in that moment. 

“Are you saying you’re not enjoying it?” Sam finally answered. 

“I…” Castiel shifted in his seat. “This isn’t about me.”

“It kind of is, Cas. If it works, it works.” Sam could tell that if Castiel had been human, his cheeks would be flushing with embarrassment and probably arousal by this point in the conversation. 

“He wants more, constantly more,” Castiel explained, trying to get through to Sam what was being created here. That Dean’s desire to achieve his preferred headspace was taking increasingly extreme measures as time went on. 

“Then give it to him,” Sam offered. “We have an easy solution for once in our lives just sitting there, why don’t we just take it for once?” 

“We’d need more equipment,” Castiel sighed. “But Sam,” he touched a hand to Sam’s shoulder. 

“Yes?” 

“If at some point in the future, this stops pleasing Dean, we have to find another way,” he pleaded. 

Sam nodded, “Of course, Cas, of course. We won’t take advantage of him, okay?” 

Sam didn’t add that it would be better for himself and Castiel too if Dean was in a good mood more often. The bar had come to mean so much to him, it was his place to unwind from all the antics of Hell, and he was sure Castiel felt the same way. 

A happy Dean meant a good life for all of them. If that meant Sam had to help fit hooks and pulleys to the beams of the bar, he’d be happy to do so. 

* * *

_ **The Future, the year Who Even Knows ** _

Dean had saliva coming out of the corner of his mouth. His jaw was aching and Sam was standing in the doorway to the playroom sighing as Castiel finally came hard down Dean’s throat. 

Dean wiped the back of his mouth on his arm and waved at his brother. 

“Hi, Sammy.” His voice was shaky and his body unclothed. 

They were all beyond caring at this point. 

Castiel pulled his garment back on. It reminded Dean of a robe, but somehow the material closed up along Castiel’s front as each side seemed to turn liquid and merge, becoming one, seamless piece of fabric. Some new invention Dean hadn’t really bothered to follow, though he did vaguely recognized from the little time he spent watching TV between eating, sleeping and having sex with Cas. 

Castiel had been around a lot more recently, almost constantly. Dean was feeling the happy hum of having him around so much, even though he did still miss seeing his brother frequently. 

“Hey, Dean. How are you doing?” 

Dean couldn’t stand up. His wrists had been cuffed behind his back to his ankles, forcing him to keep the kneeling position he’d been in for the last… Well he wasn’t sure how long. Hours, days, weeks? Time passed so oddly now. 

Castiel brushed a thumb over Dean’s lips, rubbing the small amount of cum left around Dean’s lips into his skin as if it was lip balm. 

“You were so well behaved. But you always are.” Castiel leaned down to kiss Dean on the top of his head. “Hello, Sam. What brings you here?” 

Dean leaned against Castiel’s legs for support. 

“I sent a message to ask if you wanted to get lunch, but I was told you were at home today. Hannah said she hadn’t seen you in a while? I wanted to go over the soul numbers for the next quarter.” 

Castiel snapped his fingers and the cuffs disappeared from Dean’s wrists. Dean tried not to feel upset about the release given the deep, red marks left behind. He rubbed at the marks while Castiel and Sam talked over his head. 

“When are you handing over Hell to someone else, Sammy?” Dean spoke up, interrupting both of them.

“What?” Sam looked taken aback. 

“The whole idea of this was you fixed things and then you get to enjoy your life. When is that happening?” 

“Soon,” Sam frowned. “I just need–” 

“You just need to what? Keep things going for a few more years? It’s been long enough, Sam. You should let go, spend more time with us, here.” 

Sam rubbed at his eyes and took a step back. 

“Look, you don’t understand, Dean, it isn’t that simple.” 

“I think it is,” Castiel chipped in, for the first time firmly in agreement with Dean on this. 

“You want me to hang around while you two get up to this all day? Come on, I don’t need that.” 

Dean scoffed then hauled himself to his feet. 

“We’ve been doing more than just this,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “You haven’t even seen the garden since we put in the pomegranate trees.” 

Sam frowned at them both. “For real? Isn’t that a little... biblical?” 

“We’re immortal, Sam, and I’m still technically an angel. If we can’t get a little biblical every now and then, who can?” Cas said while helping Dean into his own robe. 

Dean could understand his brother’s confusion. He knew he’d spent too much of his life addicted to the pleasures of the flesh, indulging his sex drive, but somewhere along the line, after Castiel had moved in almost full time, Dean started to discover new pleasures. The pleasure of seeing things grow. 

The joy of seeing a seed germinate and turn into a small sapling had awakened in him something he thought he’d lost. And it wasn’t that Dean was suddenly going to turn down Castiel’s cock or the chance to be tied up and suspended for a little while, all of that made him feel so happy and comfortable now. But the garden… the garden… 

“We can show you,” Dean offered. 

“You’ll like it out there, Sam. I’ve had a hard time leaving here lately. Dean’s done an incredible job.” 

Dean took Castiel’s hand in his and squeezed it gently. They smiled at each other, and Dean had to stop himself from leaning in to kiss Castiel again. They’d had their session for the day, now it was time to tend to the garden. 

As he showed Sam all the plants he’d put into the space, Sam grew more in awe of what had been created. 

“You made this area larger, right?” Sam asked Castiel, halfway through the tour of the dry-climate section. 

“Well, it was that or… you don’t want to know what Dean had planned for our session if I hadn’t distracted him with this.” 

Dean didn’t blush, he wasn’t sure he had the ability to feel embarrassed anymore about his desires. That didn’t mean he wanted Sam to know all his business, though. 

“Does it matter, Sam? What’s the point of having two powerful entities in the family if you can’t even get a garden that goes on forever? I call it _ The Garden of Dean-den _,” Dean chuckled over his terrible pun. A bird in a nearby palm tree trilled happily before cuddling up with its mate. 

Sam took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. He appeared to Dean to be a little dazed. Sam probably didn’t even realize how much of the Earth was now part of the garden. 

As the climate on Earth had crumbled into fiery, human-caused shame, and the humans had fled to other planets and zones, Dean and Castiel had taken advantage to use the wasteland to expand the garden. If someone was to find the edge and peek over the wall, they would find only death and ruin on the other side; all the markings of an Earth left abandoned long ago. 

“The air’s clean, right?” Dean grinned. “Smells amazing all year round. And if you look up there,” he pointed to the canopy of a small woodland section that had been started, Sam’s eyes followed the line of where Dean’s finger was pointing.

“Is that a tree house?” Sam smiled, a tingling of joy zipping through his head. 

“Yeah! Remember, we always wanted one as kids?” 

“We also wanted hot meals and clean clothes as kids.” 

“Yeah, and a tree house. Now we can have it all.” 

Sam beamed at Dean and looked back to the tree house, then to Castiel with a contemplative look in his eye. 

“Last one there lays eggs!” Sam shouted suddenly, taking off for the wooden rope ladder acting as the only route of access into the tree house – at least for those without the ability to fly. 

“Just because I have wings, does not mean I lay eggs!” Castiel shouted after him, also running in that direction. 

“You have no proof of that!” Dean chimed in, knowing he wasn’t going to win this race but not caring either way as he too took off for the ladder. 

Things were going to be okay, Dean decided about halfway up to the tree house, where Sam was already sitting and throwing down jibes about how Dean laid eggs. 

The three of them might be separated sometimes, but in the end, all that mattered was that they always ended up back together. They were stronger together than they were apart. And as time and time again they’d proven, Heaven and Hell couldn’t keep them apart. 

**Author's Note:**

> So many times I was thinking of turning this dark, and in fact, the original planned ending was pretty dark. Then, I don't know, it just came out like this. The Secret Garden has always been my favourite book and my love for that, with the reviving power of nature, just sort of crept in. 
> 
> Bondage and gardening are really the true heroes of this story. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Feel free to come say hi on Tumblr! I'm [perfackles](http://www.perfackles.tumblr.com/) for anything Supernatural related. 
> 
> Or my general fun-filled account [coconutice22](http://www.coconutice22.tumblr.com/).


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